The State of Perdition
by Shawn McCoy
Summary: A/U: The boys never got into hunting because their mother died of natural causes. Years later, Dean struggles to find acceptance from his father. Eating disorder theme.
1. Chapter 1

The State of Perdition

Chapter 1

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Summary: A/U: The boys never got into hunting because their mother died of natural causes. Years later, Dean struggles to find acceptance from his father. Eating-disorder theme.

This will be a chapter series. No slash, just brotherly love.

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It began when he was 13. Their father, John Winchester, war hero, had been called away from his duty and back to the states to his sons. It had been so many years since either Sam or Dean had seen him, and save for a few letters that arrived every year, the stories from Uncle Bobby told them, and a few outdated pictures, their father was nothing but a wavering memory to them. For Sam, it was the mystery of their father's existence that got him excited to learn that he was coming home. For Dean, the stories of his father's bravery and strength made him worship his father as a hero; and in that, for the first time in too long to tell, he was going to meet his hero.

John was an angry, distant man; different from the stories Uncle Bobby told them. He and Sam fought over the smallest things.

John was a strong, proud man. Dean wanted to be just like him.

John sometimes went on hunts with his friends. One day, Dean managed the courage to ask him to take him along.

John told Dean that he wasn't fit for hunting. He didn't give a specific reason, but Dean figured it out quickly enough. He'd always been a chubby little kid. It had to be that; there was no other reason. So, Dean opted to do whatever it took to be good enough to join his father on his hunts, to make him proud. Dean started to run, to lift weights, and to eat less. Fat, more from his youth than anything else, melted away, and he became this lean, strong little thing.

It was then that John got called back to the war. It was there that he died.

Dean never knew if his father would have taken him hunting had he not gotten called back. The horrifying conclusion was uncertainty.

Was he good enough? Would he ever be good enough? Could he try?

The young boy decided that he had to; he couldn't stop until he was sure his father would have accepted him, become proud of him. The little that he ate before turned into nothing. He avoided anything at all with calories, fat. Water became his diet. Exercising became his life. He got thinner.

Sammy was the first to notice, because as everybody always told him, his little brother was smart. At first, the little boy asked him why he wasn't eating dinner, and for the first time, Dean told the one he was supposed to protect a lie. "I did, Sammy, just earlier." Sammy wasn't fooled.

Dean wore heavy clothes in order to keep Sammy from noticing his weight, since lately he'd been looking at him with these big, concerned eyes. His little brother asked him if he was all right. "I'm fine, Sammy. I'm always fine. Don't worry. I'm the one that looks out for you, remember?"

Dean didn't eat, and it felt great; it felt as though he was accomplishing something big. Each pound lost was a triumph, each ounce of gained weight a failure. The scale stayed underneath his bed; up until Sammy found it. He told on him to Bobby, and Dean was forced to stand on the scale while his brother and not-even-blood-related Uncle watched the numbers go down and down. Dean yelled. Sammy cried. Bobby's face went pale. They sent him away.

Dean was diagnosed only a year later with anorexia nervosa. He was sent to a clinic, which didn't help. As soon as he was out, and feeling both fat and like a failure with all the weight he gained back, old habits started again; only Dean got better at playing the game. With both Sammy and Bobby watching, he learned to push his food around to make it look like he ate more than he did. He learned to hide his food to dispose of it later. He told them he was going to the library, when in fact he was going jogging for a few hours.

Several months later, he collapsed in gym class.

Several hours later, Sammy punched him in the jaw while he laid in his hospital bed. Sammy didn't cry, but he begged; not for Dean to start eating, but for Dean to open up, tell him why he was doing this to himself.

Dean couldn't.

Sammy held onto him and begged some more, and told him that he wasn't alone, that he would never be alone as long as he was here. He told him that he respected and loved him more than anything or anyone else in the entire world, and all he wanted was for his big brother to be happy and healthy.

Dean felt loved and accepted. He tried his best to be honest for his little brother. He tried not to hide his food, he tried not to lie and say he was going to the library when all he wanted to do was burn off everything he ate and then-some. For his baby brother, he tried. He gained the weight back.

Everything wasn't great, but it was good. Dean had some friends around school, but at night he would lay in the bedroom he shared with Sammy, and they would talk about everything. They would talk about movies and sports and jokes and girls and life. Sammy especially loved to talk, and at times, it was Dean's lullaby.

Then, Sammy got accepted to Stanford University.

Then, everything changed.

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To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

The State of Perdition

Chapter 2

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Summary: A/U: The boys never got into hunting because their mother died of natural causes. Years later, Dean struggles to find acceptance from his father. Eating-disorder theme.

I haven't decided yet if I'm going to add Castiel to this story or not; it's still up in the air.

In order to keep my muse scratching, I'm also willing to listen to random thoughts, things you would like to see in this story. I may take it, I may take part of it, or I may toss it aside all together. Basically, I'm just looking for anything to trigger an 'Ah-ha!' moment. While I have a general idea about how this story will go and where it will end, as far as long how it will be and what may happen in-between is still up in there air. There are so many possibilities….

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Sammy was gone. It was hard to accept at first that his brother would be spending the majority of time far, far away from home. Even more than that, he had been so excited about making new friends and experiencing new things. Really, Dean was proud of his baby brother; however, that didn't make things any easier. His brother did call at first, several times a week, but how could that compare to their every-night conversations, to the fact that, once upon a time, they had been closer than any friend he'd ever had? The calls became fewer and far in-between, until a month later, Dean hadn't heard a word from his baby brother.

It was fine, though. Sam was probably having the time of his life.

Sam probably forgot about him.

Dean made new friends himself at the garage he found a job at. He'd rather have joined the army and follow in his father's footsteps, but then they got hold of his medical records, discovered his diagnosed eating disorder, and apparently, the scale wasn't his friend that day. They told him that he needed to put on weight if he wanted to join, and everything came crawling back to his father's comment from before. They had to be mocking him, right? They really meant he was too damn fat to join the army. He couldn't even try to be half the hero his father was. Working as a mechanic was nice, but it was also a daily reminder of his failure.

Then, he met her: Carmon. She was beautiful with dark, thick hair and those smoking tattoos. She had an attitude and a bike, and how was it not a match made in heaven, considering his own suave, sexy nature? She was good for a date or two at least; until she turned into something more. The world was against him in every way, but Carmon… she believed in him.

Carmon thought that he was amazing.

Carmon thought that he would be even more amazing, sexy and raw if he just lost a little more weight.

Together, Dean and his new girlfriend worked on building him up to be the man he always wanted to be; someone who his father could look him in the eye and be proud of. Carmon challenged him, too. She would make goals for him.

"You're going to run ten miles today, Dean, you can do it!" She ran her finger lovingly over his prominent collarbone, kissing it.

"You didn't eat anything today, did you?" She pinched his stomach to check; that hurt. It always hurt.

"Step on the scale, baby, let's see how you did." She wrapped her arms around his hipbones, jutting out so she could easily settled her hands there.

"You still have a ways to go, baby; look at that fat right there." It was everywhere. Dean couldn't escape it. But, he was trying.

Dean worked hard. He lost weight. His family couldn't find out, though, because they would never agree with what he was trying to achieve. They had always been against him. Luckily, Dean was old enough that he lived on his own, now; or with Carmon, anyway. He didn't see Bobby, and he definitely didn't Sammy, who had abandoned him a long time ago for Stanford.

Things weren't going great, but Dean was making progress.

And then, Bobby called him and invited him over, along with Sam, for his baby brother's Christmas break.

Dean should have been mad. He should have told him that Sam decided to leave, that was it. He should have been afraid that his family would notice his weight loss, that they would do something drastic, again.

However, Dean was an adult now, and really, what could they do but bitch?

Also, nights with his little brother, talking about everything and anything. His buddy. His best friend.

Dean promised he would be there in three days.

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Dean had to be careful, watch his every move. Luckily, Carmon knew about the situation and was willing to be there for him to help him out. She was his girlfriend, so there was no need for anyone to be suspicious about inviting her to stay with them for Christmas.

It didn't snow in Kansas all too often, or usually very hard, but the winters had their moments in some places, and locals were seen, at this time of year, bundled up. It made deception all the easier.

Everything was going to be perfect.

The door opened, and shit; the smell of a good dinner filled Dean's nostrils and made his hands shudder a little. Mashed potatoes, turkey, stuffing, beans… the entire aroma was a slice of heaven; and Dean's welcoming Hell. He tried to ignore it.

"Hey, Bobby." Dean greeted his surrogate Uncle with a smile, not at all surprised at the look of wonder and distrust that crossed his Uncle's face. Bobby was a cautious, somewhat paranoid man.

"Good to see you, son," Bobby greeted, his eyes sliding over to Carmon. "And you are?"

"Carmon," the beautiful youth extended her hand. "I'm Dean's girlfriend. Nice to meet you."

"You have a girlfriend." Bobby seemed miffed about that, and that made Dean curious. Could he really be upset that he hadn't told him every detail of his life? Where was Sam, calling at all hours of the day? "Okay, well… come on. It's damn freezing out here." He added, "Wipe yer feet. I don't exactly have an extra bedroom-"

"Come on, Bobby, don't be a prude." Dean couldn't help with a half-smirk, which he attempted to remain plastered on his face, despite the fact that, as he moved into the house, the beautiful scents of the kitchen began to assault his nostrils. Deviled eggs, cranberry sauce, pie. Cherry pie. Shit, Bobby had made cherry pie. "I'm not 17 anymore. She's going to be taking my room."

"Right." The older man scoffed, but there was something else in his eyes. Regret? It hit Dean in the gut, and for the first time in a long time, he began to feel regret, too. Bobby had raised both him and Sam for a good part of their lives; he was almost like a father to them. Had he run from Bobby like Sam had run from him? Could he do any damn thing right?

"Come on, baby." Dean resolved to fix this in any way he could as he took his girlfriend's jacket off, placed it in the closet that hadn't changed, still housed their random jackets – whose was this anyway? He just couldn't remember. His own coat came off, but the hoodie stayed on. Several layer of jeans made it appear as though he was wearing a single layer of skin-hugging pants that filled several inches thicker of flesh and muscle.

His ruse worked. Dean noticed Bobby scrutinizing him, only to send out a somewhat relieved smiled; and awe, Bobby, were you thinking about this the whole time when you invited me, or did you suddenly remember? Either way, he was relieved, he was happy.

"You look good, son."

"You too, Bobby."

Bobby huffed at that. "However an old man's supposed to look."

"Uh-huh." Dean's voice was filled with mock, and he rolled his eyes as he began to look around the house. Almost nothing had changed, and for a moment, this really felt like home. For a moment, Dean had happy memories of wrestling with Sammy for the remote control, of sitting on the sofa and listening as Bobby read them stories and tucked them in at night. Suddenly, the scents floating in from the kitchen didn't bother him as much anymore. "Sammy come in yet?"

"Not yet," Bobby told him. "His flight was running a little late; should be here any minute now, though." He checked the clock. "Come on into the kitchen; we can get started on some pie and beer while we wait."

Shit. Bobby knew just how to push Dean's buttons. Was this a test?

Luckily, he had Carmon. She was here to save him; to keep him from falling. He had a goal to get to, and she was his coach, his savior.

"Desert before dinner?" Carmon asked, almost huffed. She took Dean by the arm and ran a finger down it; down the several layers of clothing. Huh, Dean could barely feel it. "Why don't we just wait? I've been eager to meet this legendary Sammy."

It was then that a knock came at the door; and who else could it be? Dean bit his lower lip. Part of him wanted to run to the fridge, pull out a beer and shake it up, then greet Sammy by opening the door and splashing it all over him.

The nostalgia of his old "home" was getting to him.

Things had changed.

It was Bobby that opened the door, only after a moment's hesitation; but what was Dean supposed to do? Run to it and be all girly and hug and kiss the little brother who abandoned him? He shoved his hands into his pockets, all previous thoughts about what dragged him here in the first place beginning to shed away. He leaned toward Carmon, his lovely girlfriend, his life and reason now, and whispered, "I don't want to stay here."

"You said you wanted to come," Carmon whispered back. "Don't worry, baby." She wrapped her arms around Dean's arm completely, and at least Dean felt that. He closed his eyes as Carmon kissed his lips, and he fought back a moan, fought back just making the Hell out with her right that very second. "I'll help you. They're not going to find out."

That's the reason she thought he didn't want to stay. Was it? The door opened, and the young man that was, when he'd left for Stanford, shorter than him, with shorter hair, but with the same child-like dimples and smile, and that face that lit up when he saw him, made him suddenly unsure of everything.

"Dean!" And suddenly, his taller baby brother was slamming into him, holding him in an embrace that made Dean want to cry, yell, punch him and hug him.

Sammy.

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To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

The State of Perdition

Chapter 3

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Summary: A/U: The boys never got into hunting because their mother died of natural causes. Years later, Dean struggles to find acceptance from his father. Eating-disorder theme.

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Sammy. Sam. Dean wanted to push him away. He wanted to embrace him. He found that he couldn't do either.

"Hey, man, good to see you, too, but come on. It hasn't been _that_ long." That seemed… appropriate. Something.

Still, Sam continued to hug Dean for another few seconds, and Dean almost, _almost_ allowed himself to fall back into the sweet surrender of yesteryears. Almost. When his brother finally decided enough was enough, their hug parted, and Dean felt giant hands against his cheeks.

God, look at you, Sammy. You got so big. That grip. You got so strong.

Everything had changed.

"Dean." Sam was still smiling as he touched at his brother's cheeks, thumbs running along his gaunt features – shit. His eyes turned from happy to concerned. "Have you been eating all right?"

Dean forgot how smart Sammy was.

"Jesus, would you lay off with the touching, man?" Dean pushed his brother's hands away, a toying, hiding smirk coming to play on his lips. "I have a woman who does that for me." Be disgusted, Sam. Make some rude comment about insinuating something.

Sam didn't take the dig, though. He didn't care about his girlfriend, or his new life; and just how fair was that? Wasn't Dean supposed to be here to pretend some semblance of Sam's new life was important? Was that why he was here? This back and forth was starting to give him a headache. He needed to ground himself. He needed control.

Wait, that really was a headache he felt. Perfect.

And now, Bobby was giving him a second-over, looking concerned himself. Extra perfect.

Sam grabbed at his wrists, but Dean folded away and back. "Jesus, a few months away and you're all handsy. Don't you have a girlfriend or something?" Dean didn't know if he had a girlfriend now, but back then when they were talking, he would often times talk forever about this beautiful blond Jessica.

"Dean, just answer the question." Sam demanded, in a voice that actually reminded Dean of their father. However, Sam wasn't their father. He didn't have any damn right to demand crap from him.

"Would you get the Hell off my back?" Dean was pissed and he wasn't holding back. Dean was still trying to keep his secret. "I come all this way just to see you, and the second I step in the door the two of you are interrogating me like I can't handle myself!"

"Boy-" Bobby warned. "We're not saying that. Just given your history-"

"In front of my girlfriend?" Dean hissed.

The two looked in her direction, and it was as though it were the first time they were seeing her.

"Come on, Dean, baby." Carmon grabbed at his arm and pulled away from them. "Let's go upstairs, get settled in-"

"Wait!" Sam stepped forward, his hands held up defensively. "Look, Dean, I'm sorry. I just haven't seen you in so long, and I worried and…" he took a deep breath. "The food smells really good. Why don't we go into the kitchen, have a good meal and…" he was trying, it looked like. Only, the one thing that Dean had learned over the years of dealing with idiots who said he was too thin when clearly he had way too much on him, looks could be deceiving. "… just catch up? Have a beer?"

Beer was empty calories, Sam. Dean was stronger than he was before; he didn't even bat an eye about refusing. "You know, I'm starting to regret this whole thing-"

"Baby, baby." Carmon kissed him on his cheek – his gaunt cheek. "Just… go upstairs. I'll bring us up some dinner, okay?"

Carmon, pretty little vixen. She'd bring up food, all right; all for the sake of appearances. She wouldn't tempt him like his family. She knew exactly what it was that he wanted, what he needed. Dean leaned momentarily into her neck and gave a short nod. "All right, baby." He gave her a slap on her ass – her nice, thin, beautiful ass. "Don't keep me waiting, sugar."

Dean headed up the stairs. He could hear talking below, but he knew his baby girl wouldn't let him down.

His old room didn't bring back any bit of nostalgia; even if there were still two beds in there. He didn't really give a damn about where Sam was going to sleep; he could take the couch for all he cared. In fact, sleep sounded good. Or at least, just to lay down.

Dean near-collapsed against his bed, his light weight making little much of a dent in the cushions.

Carmon was fast. Almost too fast. The door opened and Dean looked up, almost afraid that it would be either Sam or Bobby; but no, it was Carmon, carrying a plate of food that smelled so, so good. The door shut behind them and, with no surprise, he found the smell diminishing after the sound of its collapse in a trash can. Carmon tied it up, the smell receded, and Dean felt so good just thinking about the fact that he wasn't going to eat, that he wasn't going to put those calories in his body.

"You're doing so good, baby," Carmon's sweet voice filled the air, and soon her face came within Dean's sight. She leaned across him, smelling far better than any plate of fat, calories and cholesterol ever could. Her hands moved underneath his layers of shirt, feeling what Sam and Bobby were never allowed to see; what nobody was allowed to see. Not until he was perfect. He felt her fingers move and trace over his ribs, could feel each of them bump along each of them as skin sunk between bone. He felt her hands move lower, caressing his concave stomach, feeling and moving what must be fat. More fat. No.

"Stop." Dean took her by the wrists, his eyes warning.

"Oh, Dean, baby, don't worry." Carmon kissed his lips slow and wanting, and Dean found his hands releasing her own. He moaned as her hands came back to his stomach, lightly pulling at the tip of his belly button. "You're not perfect yet, but… you're getting there. Still… I like you anyway."

Carmon was the only one who would touch him while he wasn't perfect.

"I love you, baby," Dean told her.

It was okay that she didn't say it back.

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To be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

The State of Perdition

Chapter 4

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Summary: A/U: The boys never got into hunting because their mother died of natural causes. Years later, Dean struggles to find acceptance from his father. Eating-disorder theme.

Thank you very much for the reviews and follows!

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Some days it was hard to get up; particularly after sex, which tended to wear Dean to the bone. That morning was no different. Dean felt the ache crawl through his every limb, spreading from, he swore, between his toes right to a dull ache between his eyes. Sometimes Carmon would be there, right by his side, and just her presence alone was comfort. As Dean rolled tired eyes, he found himself disappointed; and then shocked, when he saw the time. Fuck, he'd slept until noon!

A while back, Dean had learned that he shouldn't get up too fast, or else he'd just be brought right back down with a wave of dizziness. That morning, he found himself cursing as he didn't listen to himself, as he shot straight up, only to fall back down against, luckily, the mattress.

His head pounded wildly between his eyes.

It was hard to breathe.

Fuck, he was in his old room.

It took a few minutes to get oriented again, and by that time he bothered to listen to his own reason. One mostly-steady hand clutched the edge of the bed as he eased himself up, careful not to jostle himself too much. One of these days, he would be strong enough and thin enough to be able to spring to his feet and feel nothing. It was just as Carmon said; he just wasn't strong enough yet. Yet.

It took more than several minutes to get dressed. Dean had contemplated a shower, but why bother with that before his morning run? Besides, what was a little man-sweat? He headed down the steps, hoping to run into his girlfriend before Sam or Bobby.

What he ran into was a conversation. Stealthy as he was, even if he was not yet perfect, Dean managed to move out of sight before he was seen and, not even contemplating the fact that he was eavesdropping, listened in on, apparently, Sam and Carmon.

"…. I'm really worried about him, Carmon." Sam, of course.

"Don't you think that I am, too?" Carmon. "Look, Sam, I know all about his eating disorder.'

What?

"He ate last night," Carmon promised. "I brought him dinner. He was in a bad state, but he's getting better."

He was getting better. He was losing weight; he didn't have to worry about food. He could run for so long. Jesus, Sam, did he have to prove himself to everyone? Everyone but Carmon.

"Don't bullshit me!" Sam yelled. "I saw you taking the trash out early this morning, and yeah – I had a peek. He didn't eat a damn thing!"

"I told you, he's in a bad state." Carmon explained.

"You said he _was_," Sam reiterated. "Not that he _is_. Now you're changing your story?"

"Look," Carmon sighed. "I understand that he needs to gain weight."

What… wait. Gain? No… no no no no. Had Carmon changed her mind? Had she lost her mind? Dean took deep, long breaths against the wall his back was pressed against. His eyes closed. What was happening to his one and only support system?

"However, I'm going to handle things." Carmon stated.

Like Hell that betraying little bitch would.

"If he doesn't get better soon," Carmon promised, "I will take him to a clinic."

No. FUCK. No.

Dean couldn't take it; he just couldn't hear any more of it. He pulled out his keys, ever ready in his pocket in case he decided he needed to get the fuck out of here, and marched straight for the door. By the sound of the door rushing open as soon as he started the Impala, the one and only gift his father had ever given him, he guessed that he'd been found out. Fuck them.

He sped off. To where, he wasn't sure. He'd been betrayed by the one and only person in this world who had believed in him. She never said that she loved him, but what did love and trust matter anymore anyway? He needed a drink.

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Dean's phone was off. Nobody could catch him, nobody could come into contact with him. It was too early for the bars to open, so Dean began to drown his sorrows with a bottle of whisky purchased at the local gas station. After that, it was one drink after the other. The thing was, it just didn't help.

Nothing helped.

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Dean made it home, somehow. Was it home? It was hard to tell. He'd been there for years, growing up; and wasn't that where Carmon and Sammy were staying? His mind told him it was amazing that he didn't crash the car. His mind also told him that he'd ingested a fuck-ton of alcohol, and shit. That meant a fuck-ton of calories.

Dean didn't even think if he was being followed or not, or if the voice he heard was in his head or actually from some other God-awful son of a bitch who lived here. He stumbled to the nearest bathroom and thrust himself out of the toilet. Get it out of him get it out get it out get it out now now now now NOW.

Dean felt a hand against his forehead, a large hand, and it was soothing.

"God damnit, Dean, why didn't you call? Did you drive home like this?" Sammy.

"I gotta get it out of me, Sam." Dean barely recognized his own voice. "I've gotta…"

"Dean… hey, come here."

He felt a hand push against his stomach ever lightly, and then he felt himself suddenly against someone's back. Not someone. Sam. Sammy was here. Sammy would help. "I need to get it out of me, Sammy." Sammy was smart. Sammy would know what to do. "

"The alcohol?" Sam's voice sounded so close, almost like a whisper in his ear.

Dean shook his head. "The c-calories…" he breathed. "All of that fucking alcohol… making me fucking fat."

"Dean." Sam seemed broken. He sounded scared. He sounded hurt. Dean was so, so sorry.

"I have to get it out of me." There was one remedy, something Dean hadn't ever thought about it before, but it sounded like a good enough idea. He thrust his finger into his throat, and before he knew it, he was retching into the toilet – and feeling every inch of its sting. This wouldn't have happened, though, if he hadn't consumed it all in the first place. He wouldn't have to get rid of it if he wasn't weak. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

"Shh, Dean, it's okay."

Everything else was a blur and grew fuzzier by the second. The problem? Now he couldn't get it out of him.

He was so fucking fat and weak.

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To be continued…


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